


Before Fire Seared And Shadow Scourged

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Compliant, F/M, M/M, will be AU post-season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While working a case in New York City, Dean meets someone who tells him what he doesn't want to but needs to hear.  <br/>(Set towards the end of season 2.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Fire Seared And Shadow Scourged

**Author's Note:**

> Will be a 'verse of at least 10 parts, posted as separate stories and thus a bit looser structure-wise.

“Here.”

Dean looks down at the paper Sam’s just thrown in front of him on the table of the booth, barely avoiding knocking over the admittedly empty coffee mug that Dean’s been tapping his fingers against, aimlessly and without rhythm.  (He wishes it wasn’t empty, that he could have savoured it more, but after the shit in that prison they’d voluntarily dumped themselves in and a good couple of weeks on the run, he couldn’t help sculling that cup like it was the last time he’d get one.)

The paper – the _New York Times_ – has been folded to what Dean assumes is the right page.

“ _Find Love  At America’s Largest Dating Site_ ,” he reads out with a heavily exaggerated Southern drawl, because it never fails to drive Sam crazy.  “Didn’t know you were that desperate, Sammy – but hey, whatever gets you the girls, I suppose.”

To his disappointment, when he looks up to gauge his brother’s reaction all he catches is a mildly exasperated eye roll, before Sam bends down to point at a small block of text on the corner of the page.  “That, Dean,” he says patiently.

With a wink and a loudly whispered “I promise I won’t judge, Sasquatch”, Dean does begin to read.

He sobers up pretty fast by the third or so line of the article.  Ripped to pieces, so much so that it took the victim’s wallet to identify her and then a DNA test to confirm it was true and not some sick trick.

It’s the third one – and that means they’ve got to act (and fast).  Once is life, two is a coincidence.  Three means they’ve failed three people already without even knowing it.

“Ideas?”

Something that Dean’s realised over the past year and a half is that spending practically all your life with someone, alternating between brothering and mothering (except four years of agony, four years of knowing that part of him was missing and that the missing part couldn’t be missing him the same way he was missing it) is that full sentences become unnecessary.  Sometimes even words are, because they can read each other with their eyes closed, about to fall asleep in whichever motel room they’re in.

In sync, synchronised in a way Dean’s never going to be with any chick, not matter how hot she is or how much she loves him or he loves her.

It fucking terrifies him sometimes till he calms himself down, remembers that Sammy is his brother and brothers do that – if twins can have their own secret languages then he and Sammy can too, because they’re twins but not.

“-Dean, are you listening to me?”

Funny – after all of this time and for all their unity, Dean doesn’t have any trouble tuning out when Sam’s being boring and academic like a good ex-law student.

“I always listen to you, Sammy,” Dean lies magnanimously.  “It’s like listening to birds sing,” which is accurate depending on the bird in question. 

Sam rolls his eyes again.  “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

They can’t help but grin at each other.

 

~

 

“So you must be Kate Elizabeth.”

The girl nods, but they can’t see her expression as she busies herself making coffee for the two of them.  Sam had tried to stop her, tried to insist it wasn’t necessary, but if the girl needed to do something, well, Dean might not be a coffee addict (despite what Sam says) but he’s not going to deny that he’ll take what he can get.

…Which doesn’t mean he’s addicted.  Not at all.

She turns around again, stepping around the kitchen table to the old but sturdy couch where they’re sitting to place mugs on the table in front of them.  Most of the furniture in the apartment is like that; good quality but used.  It’s a small place, but neat and thoughtfully furnished.  It doesn’t look like an actor’s apartment, much less a pair of actresses’ apartment; in Dean’s experience, there tends to be a lot more mess.

The girl, Kate, sits down opposite them with a mug of her own; tea, not coffee, and green from the scent wafting over to them.  Unexpected again; most actors Dean’s known have tended to veer more towards strong Turkish coffee that leaves them pumped with adrenaline and energy for days of fourteen or fifteen hours of work.

“What can I do for you?” she asks quietly, taking a sip of her tea.  Her voice is at odds with her appearance; soft and melodious when Dean might have expected more rough energy from the red hair ( _not natural though, so that probably explains it_ ) and vivid clothing.  “I’ve already answered what I can with the other detectives.”

“Of course,” Sam agrees smoothly.  “We just wanted to ask some follow-up questions – make sure we’ve got all the details.”

She meets Sam’s eyes for a long time instead of answering, and though Dean knows perfectly well that the lie wasn’t audible (or even completely a lie for that matter), he still feels slightly uneasy.

After a long, tense moment, she nods slowly.  “What do you want to know?”

“Your friend, Mara Walters – was that her real name, by the way?” Sam adds faux-casually. 

Kate frowns, delicately shaped eyebrows slanting slightly inwards.  “No, actually, though I told the other detectives that too.  Her name was Leimara Dascilen, but…”  She shrugs.  “You want a name people will remember, and not because it’s impossible to pronounce, you know.”  A slight pause.  “Is this significant?”

Dean flicks his eyes in Sam’s direction; a silent _play it easy but we were right and this is bad, we need to work_.  “No,” he replies, trying to project very slight disappointment.  “Anyway-“

“You’re lying.”

It takes Dean a moment to register the interruption, the lack of accusation and the sheer _statement_ in those two words, like she knows through some divine (fuck divine, it doesn’t exist) force.  “Miss Elizabeth,” he begins, “we can assure you-“

She huffs a short breath of laughter, sharp and brittle.  “I’m an actress, Detective.  Believe me, I can tell when you’re lying.” Any trace of a smile leaves her face as she leans forwards, expression remoulding itself into one of earnest determination.  “I didn’t know Mara – Leimara – too well, but she was my roommate, and my _friend_.  I’m not stupid – I’ve heard about the other deaths.  You think they’re connected, I can tell.  Please let me help.”

Dean shakes his head and can feel Sam doing the same.  He lets Sam handle this the way he always lets Sam handle it – because Sam has those ridiculous puppy dog eyes that he should have lost by the time he was fifteen but didn’t (the only way Dean could have been convinced to drive Sam to the bus stop that day when he stormed out of the Winchester life.)  “Miss Elizabeth,” Sam says gently, “you can’t help-“

“Bullshit.”

Despite himself, Dean is impressed.  It takes a lot of nerve to be able to cut off Sam when he’s got the puppy dog thing going, and he can tell Dean is just as surprised.  “I’m sorry?” Sam says slowly.

“I said bullshit.”  The trace of quiet is gone from Kate’s voice, though it’s as melodious as before; but now she sounds more like a redhead than before.  “You haven’t said what killed her.  Either you don’t know, or you’re scared to tell me.  Maybe because you think it’ll be dangerous if I know.  Maybe because you already think I’m in danger.   But someone was killed in my _apartment_ , my own _roommate_ was killed in my apartment, and I think you should be able to tell me what’s happening, and how I can stop it from happening again.

This time, it’s helpless, _what can we do?_ glances that they exchange.

“Well?”

 _Might as well try, not like it’s going to hurt_ , is what Sam’s minute shrug – barely a twitch of the shoulders – says.

“You’re not going to believe us,” Dean says as a preface.

Kate shrugs.  “Always a good starting point.”

 

~

 

The thing is, Sam and Dean don’t actually know what _it_ is.  A kind of demon, but not in the same sense of the demons they’ve dealt with, or the ones that Sam’s half-kin to.

(Dean carefully tries not to think about the fact that they’ve tainted Sammy, and though Sammy will always be Sam will always be his brother, the most important thing in his life, the fact remains that there’s something in him and it’s not his fault, because demons suck shit.)

‘”We don’t have enough research on it yet,” Dean explains two hours later while Sam has gone to get their stuff from the hotel room – _you can stay here_ , she’d said about an hour in.  _Till you’ve killed this thing, anyway._

 _You don’t need to do that,_ Sam had protested, but Kate had looked at Dean as she replied with _sometimes that’s the best reason to do something._

“But as far as you know it’s attacking people who use…what, who use stage names?”

Dean nods.  “It’s not so much the name change,” he explains, “as it is the loss of identity.  All the victims were far from home, away from family, with no close friends.  Nothing to link their stage names to but work, and nothing to link their real birth names to but memories.  Whatever these things are, they prey upon isolation.”

Kate snorts.  “It’s gonna have a good time here, then,” she mutters under her breath.

He smirks, despite everything.  “I don’t doubt it.”  Kate lives in the suburb that most actors of around her level – young, talented enough to get work but not old or experienced enough to demand pay to match their talent – live in.  “With names like… _Phoenix Diamente_?  Really?”

Kate’s mouth tightens, and Dean’s suddenly reminded of the fact that, while to him these are unfamiliar faces and strange names to match cooling, ripped-apart carcasses, she probably knew them; if not well, then at least knew them by face or name.

After a moment, though, she laughs slightly, the sound pleasant and warm if a little strained.  Dean relaxes, glad that she’s not offended. She’s taken all of this incredibly well – only nodded and asked the barest of questions as Dean had talked, Sam jumping in occasionally with extra info, gaze intent and determined.  Since Sam left, they’ve been deviating slightly from the conversation topic – understandably, since with no new information apart from the confirmation that Mara/Leimara was lonely and missing home, there hasn’t been much to discuss – and Dean’s been discovering with no small amount of pleasure that Kate isn’t just easy on the eyes, she’s also intelligent and funny.

(And only about two and a half years younger than him, which is even better.)

Not that the first doesn’t tend to make up his mind most of the time, but the other two are brilliant, will take any girl from mildly attractive to extremely hot.

He’s suddenly aware that they’re sitting next to each other on the couch now, closer than is normally socially acceptable.  It’s not bothering him too much, and doesn’t seem to be bothering her.

“So-“ he begins, with some vague intention of suggesting – what exactly, he doesn’t know – and then his phone rings and they jerk apart, almost guiltily.  Kate pushes herself to her feet, muttering something about grabbing some biscuits, and Dean reaches into his pocket.

It’s Sam, of course, the always-dependable cock-blocker.

“What?” he asks brusquely into the phone in lieu of actually saying hello.

“I know what they are,” Sam says breathlessly, and then hangs up.

Dean stares at his phone, blinks slowly.  “Wow.  What a bitch.”  He shakes his head wonderingly then looks over to Kate.  “It was Sammy- Sam,” he corrects hastily, because as much as he’ll call Sam _Sammy_ when they’re alone, it feels strange using that name in public.  Like revealing a secret about someone, except that the secret’s one of yours too.  “He says he knows what it is.  Didn’t say anything else, but at least one of us knows.   Good old Sam.”  He can’t help but smile fondly, because it’s true.

There’s a heavy sigh from the kitchen, and Dean looks up.  “I knew it,” Kate groans.  “the good ones are always taken or gay.  Or both.”   She shakes her head.  “I just don’t know why you guys felt like you needed to pretend to be brothers – I’m an actress, after all, it’d be pretty depressing if I was homophobic.”

It takes Dean a while to work that out.

“What- what, wait no, no, _no_ ,” he repeats, aghast.  “Sam’s my _brother_ , we’re not, I mean, that’s…”

He trails off, suddenly uncomfortably aware that he’s not sure what that is.  He knows what should be leaping to mind, what he should be exclaiming ( _disgusting, wrong, perverted, incest_ ) and for Sammy they’d be true.

Not for him.

(But he promised after Stanford happened never to think about it, never again.)

Dean glances at Kate again and realises with a start that she’s been watching him closely, frown of concentrating indicating that (much to his dismay) she’s been taking everything in.

“I believe you,” she says finally.  “But…you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks flatly.

With a roll of her eyes, she shifts her weight to rest her hand on her hip.  “I mean seriously, Dean, it’s pretty obvious that you’re really into him.  In a really not-platonic way.  And that he feels exactly the same.  You guys are meant to be.”

“No, I don- I’m sorry, _what_?”

“And I know the whole taboo thing sucks but you hunt supernatural things and have a criminal record, right?  You shouldn’t worry so much about it,” Kate continues over him like he didn’t say anything, stepping back towards the couch to pat his shoulder comfortingly before moving towards the kitchen again.

“I-“

The front door bursts open and Sam rushes in.  “I think we have a problem,” he huffs breathlessly, collapsing to his knees and barely managing to kick the door closed before something bangs on it, loud and insistent.

 

~

 

“ _Caiinell_ ,” Sam explains around a mouthful of water.  The banging hasn’t stopped, though they’ve shoved everything in front of the door in an effort to provide as much protection as possible.  “They’re offspring of Cain-“

“Wait,” Dean interrupts, “as in _Cain and Abel_ Cain?”

A beady glare from Sam doesn’t make Dean feel anything other than amusement, but Kate’s reproachful glance causes him to flush.  “Sorry,” he mutters.

“As I was saying,” Sam continues, sending another glare Dean’s way, “they’re offspring of Cain – or at least, members of his lineage.  It’s a curse that only affects the bloodline very occasionally, but when it does it doesn’t mean well for anyone at all.”

“Obviously,” Dean starts to say, but this time Kate whacks his arm.  _Hard_.

“In the story,” and now Sam isn’t even looking at Dean, instead addressing his words to Kate, “Cain kills Abel and is cursed to roam, to be without a home.  The mark of Cain – and every so often someone in his bloodline gets it, along with superhuman powers, extended lifespan, the lot.  Only one at a time – it can’t pass on till the one who had it before is dead.  They feed on the lonely, the dispossessed – but not ones who were forced into it-“

“Just people who _chose_ it,” Kate finishes, realisation dawning in her eyes.  “The names – they chose the names.  Like Cain _chose_ to kill Abel.”

Privately, Dean doesn’t actually agree with that – he’d totally get homicidal if Sammy beat him in something – but he’s wise enough to appreciate that saying that will probably get him strangled by Kate.

Sam nods.  “They’re not attacking famous actors who’ve got stage names because those actors have had time to establish some sense of identity coming from those names.  For you guys, though, it’s not the same.”

“Mara wanted a fresh start,” the girl whispers, twirling a lock of red hair around her finger agitatedly.  “She wanted to become someone _new_ – and that’s why she’s dead?”

Neither Dean nor Sam replies.  It seems unnecessary.

“What are we going to do? Dean asks instead, flicking a worried look Sam’s way.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those things’ve been banging on the freaking door for the past ten minutes, and they seem pretty persistent.”

“Well…”  Sam bites his lip.  “I have an idea.”

He doesn’t say anything more.  “Well?” It’s not that Dean is normally impatient, but there are superhuman beings outside probably waiting to kill them.  It does tend to do things to his patience.

“You’re not going to like this…” Sam warns him.

 

~

 

“You’re right,” Dean growls as the last table is moved out of the path of the door.  “I don’t like this.  No, even better, I _hate_ it.  What’s to stop it?”

“Stop whingeing,” Kate tells him calmly.  “They’ve got superhuman powers, right?  They could have knocked the door in ages ago.”

Dean raises an eyebrow before turning towards Sam.  His brother shrugs.  “She’s got a point,” he tells Dean.

“You’re both crazy,” Dean moans, stepping back.  “I think this is crazy and I’m not opening it.” 

Sam snorts loudly.  “Aww, is poor little Dean scared of the big monsters?” he asks with an obnoxious amount of patronisation in his voice, ruffling Dean’s hair till Dean knocks the hand away with way-too-girly yelp.

(It sucks that even now, Sam’s hand against him is doing things it shouldn’t.)

“Oh my god, you two, get a room.  _I’ll_ do it.”

Before they can stop her, Kate’s opened the door.

 

~

 

The _Caiinell_ look disappointingly human.

 _Look_ , Dean thinks, and it’s not because his grammar is terrible.

It’s because there are _two_ of them.

“Twins,” Dean sighs.  “Great.  You couldn’t have warned us earlier?” he addresses over his shoulder to Sam, who’s standing slightly behind him.  “You were the one who led them here, after all.”

“I was running, you moron.  Doesn’t give me much opportunity to count sheep and sing opera, you know.”

“Guys,” their companion warns, threading a hand through her hair with nerves that don’t reflect in her steady tone ( _actress_ , Dean remembers with admiration), “focus.”

“Right.  Yeah.”  Dean focusses his attention back to the front.  “Hey, strange glowing guys,” Dean asks roughly.  “What do you want?”

They stare at him.  They’re very good at it.  Mostly because their eyes are pure white, with a single red dot in the centre; the mark of the curse.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Dean tries again, after a solid two minutes pass sans response.  “Why are you here?”

That appears to be the right question; because their veins, sickeningly translucent pulse with light and their mouths open.

“ _We seek truth and place and knowledge and care_ ,” the creatures say in unison, in voices that go straight through Dean’s skull and into his bloodstream, icy and fiery at the same time.

 _That’s vague_ , Dean thinks sardonically, but Sam’s already stepped forwards.

“Sammy,” Sam says clearly.  “I am Sammy.  I have truth in my heart and place on Jessica’s grave, knowledge in my books and care in my brother.”

It should sound ridiculous.  It does, on one level.  But one of Sam’s abilities has always been his way with his voice, and so instead of making Dean break the tense atmosphere with hysterical laughter, he feels a shiver run down his spine to curl warm and tight in his stomach.

One of the creatures reaches forwards, steps forwards, and too-long fingers wrap around Sam’s throat.

Kate tenses beside Dean, and he already knows all his muscles are tight as violin strings.

“ _Satisfactory_ ,” it whispers and shatters into nothingness.

But the other one doesn’t.

 _Shit_.

“ _I seek truth and place and knowledge and care_ ,,” the remaining _Caiinell_ says in that same monotone, as though its sibling hasn’t just been reduced to nothingness by just those things.

Sam steps forwards again.  “I am-“

The creature pushes him lightly.  It sends Sam staggering back, barely staying on his feet.  “ _You are nothing now_ ,” the thing says like Sam is nothing to it, is really just not there.  “ _You have served.  You will live._ ”  The gaze focusses on Dean.  “ _I seek truth and place and knowledge and care_.”

Dean steps forwards, throat dry.  “I…I am Dean,” he says, and his voice cracks.  “I have truth in my…heart,” and Christ that sounds stupid and not him, “and place in the Impala,” that comes more easily, “knowledge in my…hands,” not that so much, “and care in my father.”

It doesn’t lean forwards to touch him.  Instead it begins to burn a fiery red, not like normal fire but like something he’s only heard of.

Hellfire.

“ _False_ ,” it hisses, and the fire leaps up, ready to consume him but it’s so beautiful, hypnotic and deadly at once and Dean can’t look away, though a small voice is screaming at him _no Dean, no_!

“ _Wait_!”

The fire goes away, vanishes, and Dean stumbles backwards into Sam’s broad chest.  Arms wrap around his stomach, holding him firmly ( _safely_ ). 

He’d step away, say something about the gay, but doesn’t.  One, because he’s going to fall if he steps away, no question, and two, because Kate is standing in front of the creature now, head raised proudly.

“I have truth in my veins and place in the skies, knowledge in my soul and care in my family,” she answers easily, not a single tremor in her voice.

But when Dean looks down he can see her hands shaking uncontrollably, and he knows with a sickening jolt that she’s probably more scared than she’s ever been in her whole life.

And it’s his fault, because he couldn’t do his job-

“I can feel you hating yourself, Dean,” Sam murmurs in his ear and God that should be illegal.  “Don’t.  It wasn’t your fault.”

 _Easy for you to say_ , Dean thinks bitterly, but doesn’t say, because the creature’s stepped forwards.

“ _Who are you._ ”

“Katya,” Kate replies, a slightly lilt to her voice; Eastern European.

“ _No, no, no_ ,” and now the creature’s not flaming red, but going a deep blue like the colour of deep sea, “ _what are you what are you to stand here you shall not live_ -“

It’s not fire that begins to rage.  Instead it’s a creeping fog that twines itself around Kate’s limbs and torso, dragging her in.  Dean tries to run forwards but Sam’s still got him and isn’t letting him go and _why not_ -

“You’ve had your curse met, Cain of Eden, and you will rest.”

That’s not Kate’s voice. 

But it is.

But it isn’t.

Because the creature screams, one final wail of loss and agony and pathetic, desperate relief, and then disappears into nothingness.

 

~

 

They do end up staying the night, mostly because Dean’s convinced they need to make sure Kate isn’t a demon in disguise herself.  But the holy water doesn’t do anything, not does the devils trap they paint on the underside of the rug during the night.

“It was the right thing to say,” is all she can say, but the confusion in her voice makes it clear that even she isn’t sure that’s what really happened.

The next morning, Sam’s packing the Impala while Dean farewells Kate.  It should be awkward, after the climactic ending to what happened the night before, but it isn’t.

“You saved my life,” Dean says quietly after they hug.  “You could have died.”

Kate rolls her eyes.  “I didn’t.”

“But you could have.”

Smiling, she stands on her toes and kisses his cheek gently.  “You don’t always need to do the saving, Dean,” Kate says softly.  “Sometimes you do deserve it too.”  She leans up again.

“Remember what I said about Sam,” she whispers into his ear.  “That’s someone that could save you.”

Dean flushes, and it’s still there when she steps away, grinning.

 

~

 

Dean turns the mystery of what happened with Kate – with what she did, what she might be – over and over in his head for the next few days.

And then all Hell breaks loose, and he forgets everything but Sam.

**TBC**


End file.
